


A Wild Melody

by MeringueMeringue



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Body Worship, Gender-neutral Reader, Other, Smut, sort of???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-23 02:35:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23404381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeringueMeringue/pseuds/MeringueMeringue
Summary: Piers has a hard time understanding why you’re attracted to him, and you’re happy to spend the time to show him every reason why.AKA: Social distancing is getting to me and I’m slowly losing myself to anxiety and aggressive horniness and I have a type and that type is *this man* so excuse some sloppy self-indulgent smut.Reader is kept as gender-neutral as possible, but I’m a woman so pardon anything that seems off for a masc reader.This is my first time publishing so forgive me.
Relationships: Nezu | Piers (Pokemon)/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 177





	A Wild Melody

“You could do so much better than this. Look at me, I’m barely alive. I’m a bloody string bean.” Piers complains. The two of you are in your flat, lounging in bed together. The newness of your relationship has worn off by now, but you’re still very much all over one-another every chance you get. You’d been lowkey toying with each other for the past hour, and by now your arousal is impossible to ignore.

Propping up on an elbow, you give him a coy glance. “Piers are you saying I have bad taste? Oh, that’s just insulting, love.”

He groans a little, shaking his head. “I just dunno what you see.”

“It sounds like I’ll have to show you what I see, then. Where to even start with you?” You squint at him, grinning, and you move to hover above him. His hand brushes behind your ear and he gives you a curious look, wondering what you’re about to do. Supporting yourself on your palms, you take a lock of his hair and play with it. “You take such good care of your hair. I suppose you must, to keep it healthy this long. It’s so soft and silky.”

He rolls his eyes. “Of course, you go straight for the hair.”

“You should be proud of it. Oh, but I’ve only just started .” You lower your face to his, and just before your lips touch you murmur, “You give such good kisses.”

Piers parts his lips to accept yours, his hand pulling your head closer. His kisses are firm and fast - almost nothing this man does is gentle, and you love it. Your breath syncs with his and your heartbeat pounds against your chest and he grips you like he might lose you in an instant if he dares to let go. And as he swirls his tongue and bites your lip and you get dizzyingly lost in all of it, you come so close to forgetting what you were meant to be doing. You pull back, and you both breathe. “That,” you say, “I love that.”

“And I love what it does to you when I do this.” You loop a finger through his collar and pull gently. He does exactly what you’d expect - he draws a sharp breath and gives in, tilting his chin to expose more of his neck. You nibble at his jawline, trailing to his neck, and you dig in. Moving his collar up out of the way, you leave your marks where it sits so he can hide them if he needs - though he usually doesn’t. And each time your teeth graze his neck you can feel his voice vibrate in his throat, a forceful purr on your lips. He loves this just as much as you do. 

Reaching for his shirt and pulling it up, you stop your nibbling only briefly to let it pass over his head. He’s right behind, working yours up your chest. You have half a mind to stop him, to tell him to just let himself experience this, but who are you to deny him from enjoying himself if this is what he wants? You let yourself down onto his chest, your warm skin against his, and trace a finger on his collarbone. “You’re so pretty.”

He scoffs.

“I mean it. The way the light plays off your features in such beautiful chiaroscuro. I could leave you so many little paintings on your skin. In fact, I think I might.” You give his sternum a few tiny kisses before baring teeth again, leaving little spots that would bruise later. Some on his collarbone, some on his shoulders, and - flicking your tongue across his nipples - some on the sides of his chest. All of them places he could cover if he needed to. Each bite draws sharp breaths from him, a few turning into low whimpers. You pay extra attention to those spots. Even raw and uncontrolled, his voice is like a song. 

Lightly you trace little lines into his stomach with your nails. “Oh don’t be so gentle,” he growls.

You hum and comply, raking into his smooth skin - not enough to truly injure, but those lines will certainly linger long enough for him to appreciate them later. He curses under shallow breath and arches his back into your touch. Curling your fingers into his back, you drag them down, diving into his pants to grip his pert ass. His hips pressing into your stomach, it becomes so obvious what all this does to him.

“I love your tight waist that breaks into the crests of your sharp hips. And the bruises they leave on me every time we fuck; that lovely proof of everything you’ve done to me.” You withdraw your hand and let him back down to catch his ragged breath. Playing with the little trail of dark hair on his stomach, you giggle and say, “And this.”

He chuckles, and as your fingers tease the edge of his trousers, he mouths a plea. You kiss his belly, all those marks you’d made all over him, and then work his jeans open. Peeling them down you expose his throbbing erection. “Ah,” he breathes, “your favorite bit.”

“Not quite,” you mutter into the base of his cock. You hear him begin to ask what you mean, but before he can, you drag your tongue up the length of it and take it into your mouth, and the only sound that escapes him is a surprised moan. You press and flick and swirl with your tongue, and then take him in as far as you can. Before long, you can feel a hand on the back of your head, pushing with your rhythm. It’s not forceful, just enough for him to affirm his pleasure. His hips roll underneath you as you suck, and the noises he’s making remind you that you’re glad you’re in your flat - and not his with those paper-thin walls. 

Before he can’t take any more, you let yourself off of him, wiping the trail of spit from your lip. He whispers, “Why’d you stop? Don't- don’t stop.”

“Hmm, but I still have to tell you my favorite thing.” You pull yourself up, your eyes meeting his. He busies himself with removing your trousers as quickly as he can, absolutely ravenous for you. Between kisses, you can barely get all your thoughts out. “My favorite thing is when I’m here. And I can press my forehead to yours and look into the shadows of your eyes, and see the light within them. And I can brush my fingers through your hair and hold you close. And I can tell you with every fucking inch of me just how much I love you.”

His chest shakes. Laughter, or something else maybe. Gripping your hair in one hand and your ass in the other, he pulls you deeper into longing kisses. Fingering your entrance, he grinds himself against you, nothing between you now. And you- you’ve wanted this the whole time, but now that he’s so close you’re desperate. You can’t help but buck your hips into his, the same way he is to you. He breaks from the kiss to whine, “Please -mmh- please let me fuck you.”

“Yes.” you whisper, so ready for this, and he enters you. “Ah- yes!” 

With every breath, you pound into each other. He doesn’t need to ask you to go faster, harder - clutching your hips and pulling, he tells you this without words. None of it is gentle, and you’ve never needed anything more than this. This heat. This fullness. This voice of his swearing your name each time he thrusts into you. This pressure building up inside of you, begging to be let out. You bunch your fists into his hair and cry out, barely able to support yourself as you shudder and tighten around him in a gushing climax. Your quivering sends Piers over the edge. “I need-” he gasps. “I’m gonna-”

When he comes, it’s needier than ever. He pulls you into an embrace over his shaking body, panting and burying himself into your shoulder. Hissing, he pulls himself out of you, and you can’t help but chuckle at that immediate sensitivity. You both catch your breath, resting in the crook of each other’s necks, and he whispers, “I love you too. I love you so much.”

You run a thumb along his cheek. “Now do you understand what I mean when I call you beautiful?”

“No.” He grins and winks at you. “I think you might have to tell me again soon.”


End file.
